Her Return
by Serpent'sCub
Summary: Hermione returns to complete her seventh year. Gone is the bookworm eager to please and here is the young woman who did more than anybody will ever know in the final battle. She is stronger than before but he is darker, more reserved and unwilling to remember what actually happened. Their world's collide and intertwine causing a whirlwind of unexpected emotion. (M)
1. Back To Black

**Back to Black**

She watched him stalk the room as she had seen him do a thousand times before. The long strides, the sound of his heavy boots as they hit the concrete floor, ricocheting around the silent room of loud minds - all focussed on their task or otherwise just afraid to look up. The swish of his black cloak as it rippled in the air before sweeping against the ground repeatedly, the monotony of the sound almost alluring to nobody but her.

She couldn't recall whether she had noticed any of it before she had returned; whether she had even really noticed him before. All she knew was that she did now and she couldn't help but avert her eyes from her parchment, unafraid of being caught in her observations.

Things were different now. Whereas before she'd opted to sit at the front of class, eager to avoid distractions and listen intently to his words, she now chose to hide in the far corner of the dark room. The shadows hid her newfound ability to become easily distracted. Really, she had no obligation to be there. She had no need to complete her finally year. After all that they had achieved, she was more than qualified to take up employment in most fields (as per Harry and Ron,) but something had drawn her back to Hogwarts.

Minerva McGonagall hadn't needed to persuade Hermione Granger to return but the promise of experience behind the scenes had of course piqued her eager mind and after a summer of relaxation and travelling she was excited to return. Her return was also not without trepidation however; she had no real purpose in completing her seventh year and she did fear that without her friends by her side, she would not quite enjoy the experience as she had before. But that meeting before with the Scottish woman had eased her mind and as they sat in The Burrow eating dinner together and Hermione couldn't help but smile at the thought of returning _home._

How long he had been standing behind her she didn't know, but she could smell the subtle scent of musk and realised that he was indeed leaning over her. Instinctively, her hand returned to her quill and she began to complete the sentence which had been started over thirty minutes previously. That seemed to be enough for Snape, who continued his stalking of the dark room, not before throwing a loud tut her way. She'd expected an admonishing remark or a harsh telling off, but neither came. It was not that he was no longer capable of such callous words as before, no Severus Snape had not mellowed since the end of the war, in fact he had seemed to retreat into his dark self even more so.

What seemed like seconds later, Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by the sharp bang of Snape's palm on the desk, shortly followed by the scraping of stools on the hard floor. This noise had become her Professor's new signal for dismissal and his students were always very eager to be dismissed. The room emptied suddenly and not wanting to be the last student standing, Hermione struggled to bundle her books into her bag quickly enough.

'Miss Granger, a word,' came the rich drawl of Snape as she almost reached the exit to the classroom.

Slowly, she turned towards him. He was sitting at his desk at the front of the room, dark eyes locked upon her, his position in his chair upright, strong, unwavering. Breathing in as much of the dungeon's cold air as she could, as though needing some sort of lift to carry her forwards towards him, Hermione started towards his desk.

'Professor Snape, sir,' she began, 'I do not wish to be rude but I have a meeting with Professor McGonagall now and I really cannot be late.'

His brows furrowed into an emotion she could not read – was that anger? Annoyance? Amusement?

He stood from his chair quickly, his robes gave in to gravity and resumed their place, billowing at his ankles before he reached around them, pulled them tight into his chest under folded arms: a very Snape-like stance indeed. She noticed in that moment that he had gained weight. He was bigger than he was before – broader. He did not look physically strong by any stretch of the imagination but he did look more intimidating than before. He looked forbidding.

'You wish not to be rude Miss Granger, yet you are being insufferably so by even stating so. Professor McGonagall will have to wait, we need to have a little _chat._ ' The emphasis on the word chat was not lost on her, the affability that it seemed to imply immediately quelled by his intonation and she knew that he no more wanted to chat than he did spend an evening at the Yule Ball.

'What would you like to _chat_ about then, Sir?' She mimicked his emphasis something which she would not dared to have do two years earlier.

'Not the weather I assure you Miss Granger. Sit.' He gestured to a stool at one of the student desks and to her surprise sat down next to her, his long legs bent upwards at the knees as his feet hit the floor. If possible, he looked even taller for sitting.

'It has come to my attention that you are not behaving as a little book worm should. Your essays are merely acceptable and you attention in class is, well, wavering. Do you think that you are better than anybody else in my classroom Miss Granger? Do you feel as though you are too good to be here? Too good to learn? Have you learnt all that you can by saving the wizarding world with your imbecilic friends that a life of academia is now lost on you?'

Hermione's eyes dropped to the floor habitually before she caught herself quickly. Her mouth retorted before she had chance to formulate them in her mind. She was no longer a child afraid of him.

'Firstly, Professor Snape, I did not save the wizarding world as you so casually put it. I think you'll find that my _imbecilic_ friend did most of the leg work and I merely guided him along the way. Others' own sacrifices helped too, but then again some have forgotten this and seemingly all that transpired.'

He knew she was taking about him, but he let it go. He was, admittedly, taken aback by the girl's audacity.

'Secondly,' she continued, 'I do not feel that I am too good to be here, or that I am smart enough to get by with little effort. I merely find this whole situation bizarre and I am struggling to adapt to it now that my eyes have been opened to the real world.'

Honesty, he thought.

'Well Miss Granger, as much as I am privileged to be privy to the inner workings of your teenage mind and the struggles of your new role here in the castle, I do not care. I care only that you start _paying attention_ in class. It is only then, that I will consider the Headmistress's absurd request that I allow you to help me brew for the Infimary stocks.' The last sentence was almost spat from his mouth as though he could barely stand the taste of the suggestion.

Hermione faltered then with any witty remarks about her teenage mind actually being a twenty-one year old mind that had actually helped defeat the greatest and most fearsome wizard of all time. Instead, she focussed on the suggestion that McGonagall had finally given her permission to work behind the scenes; granted, she was hoping that she would be working with the Headmistress herself, but Snape was an incredible wizard who she could learn a lot from (if he'd let her.)

'Your mouth is gaping Granger,' he spat, his lips curling slightly in the corners.

'I just…I just had no idea that Professor McGongall had found a role for me.'

'A role that will remain unfulfilled unless your next essay gives me something worthy of more than kindling for my fire. Sort yourself out Miss Granger.' He waved his had dismissively and stood before stalking back to his desk. She took that as her cue to leave.


	2. Her Promise

**2\. Her Promise**

There was something about the second floor of the castle and Gargoyle Corridor which excited her. She had fond memories of visiting Dumbledore usually for praise following whatever success they'd achieved making steps towards defeating Voldemort. She recalled with great fondness the way Dumbledore always held the room; the way his face lit up as they entered and he beamed so proudly at them. She also recalled one of her last visits to his office with less affection. He was weakened then, but his mind was more focussed than ever. She recalled the piercing blue of his eyes as they locked onto her, the clarity in his voice as he made her privy to one of his more complex plans. Her heart had felt as though it plummeted in her chest as he had told her of his plans and her role in them. Dumbledore had given them all instructions, made them all pawns in his complicated game of chess with the Dark Lord, and her role she felt, was still incomplete. Yet she knew not how to complete the task as he had never explicitly told her what is was. He was a complicated man she mused and wondered whether he actually knew how many plans he had laid and how many of them were backups in case one of his soldiers failed.

' _Now Miss Granger, I know that this is a lot to take in,' he had said, his blackened hand contrasting greatly with his white beard as he stroked in methodically. 'I know that you must have many burning questions but I am afraid that I cannot tell you more than I have. One day this will all make sense to you my dear, and I hope that you will look back at this moment in many years with great fondness. You have an important role to play Miss Granger and you will continue to play it far beyond the point at which you think you have achieved it.'_

' _I don't understand Professor Dumbledore. Why?'_

 _He smiled then. A warm smile that lit up his face. 'The why is not important. A wise man once told me that it is not our intentions which define our success, rather the intentions of our response to it.'_

 _Hermione's brain pondered this seemingly paradoxical notion, and she endeavoured one day to fully understand its meaning._

' _Miss Granger, do you know what is required of you when the time comes?'_

 _She nodded._

' _And you understand that you must not tell your friends of your intentions or anybody else for that matter. Your mission will only begin that day and there will be a time, much after I am gone, that you will need to play your part once more.'_

 _Again she nodded, unsure if she fully understood._

The gargoyle entrance spun slowly in the present, breaking her memory of that day. She watched in awe, still after all those years, as a majestic spiral staircase was revealed. She heard McGonagall before she saw her, humming a soft tune, her Scottish tones rich and welcoming.

'Ah Hermione,' she greeted warmly, pulling the younger woman into a tight embrace. She smelt of lavender and Hermione had come to enjoy the scent. Ever since the end of the war and following their many meetings at The Burrow, McGonagall had taken to greeting her like this every time. Hermione got the impression that the woman was almost reminding herself that the golden trio had made it, her physical touch seemed to be a way of confirming that they were real, they were still there.

McGonagall appeared to radiate as she pulled away from Hermione, much as Dumbledore had done before her. There was something about the power which the office held that transmitted through and radiated out of its tenant. The Headmistress had not changed through war. She still wore the same green velvet coat atop of a black dress, the only sign of age a small burn mark on the cuff of the right sleeve, which Hermione knew was a mark from the final battle. She knew that the Headmistress would undoubtedly be able to remove the mark if she so wished, thus she wondered if she had kept it as a physical reminder of all that they had endured.

'How are you dear?' McGonagall asked as she ushered Hermione to a small red chair opposite her own. 'I know we haven't had much chance to catch up since you've been back, Merlin its November and I think I've spoken to you once!'

Hermione smiled. She hadn't expected daily brunch with the Headmistress but she admittedly did imagine that the she would've made more of an effort to ensure that she had settled back in to Hogwarts ok.

'I'm fine,' Hermione finally conceded. 'I mean it's a little difficult being back, the memories and not being with the boys. But you know, I have Ginny and that does help.'

McGonagall looked over her half-moon glasses and observed Hermione. She was no longer young lady with an insufferable desire for knowledge, she had matured into a woman, a twenty-one year old who looked in all honesty absolutely absurd in a school uniform. She contemplated for a moment suggesting that Hermione opt for plain robes but quickly decided that the younger woman would not want to stand out.

'It's different is it not,' McGonagall probed, 'being back here now, after all this time?'

Hermione nodded. It did feel different. She felt different; no longer a little girl. She was back to complete what she started but she felt as though she were experiencing it all for the first time.

'And how are your lessons going? Passing with flying colours I assume.' McGonagall almost continued to talk, as though the question were rhetorical but Hermione's sigh suggested that it was not. She watched as Hermione pushed a long brown curl out of her eyes in frustration. 'What is it dear?'

'Well it's funny you should say that,' Hermione began. 'I've literally just got out of Professor Snape's classroom, where he kindly told me the exact opposite. He informed me that my essays are merely _acceptable_ and that I should _sort it out._ ' Her repetition of his words was mimicked in such a Snape like drawl that Minerva couldn't help but smile.

'I see Severus hasn't lost any of his charms of late then.'

'I just don't get it Professor. I thought that after all that transpired, he would be a little…' she trailed off. What did she really expect? Trelawney like potions lessons with a bubbly great bat stood at the front. Of course he wasn't going to be different. He hadn't gained anything from the war, other than harsh criticism for his duplicity and the world knowing his business. As he had lain on that floor and told Harry to take his memories, not expecting to survive, Snape had unwittingly shattered his dark illusion by revealing a history of torturous love. Those closest to him now knew his darkest secret and Hermione was sure that he wished he could erase it from all of their memories.

'Severus is complex man,' Minerva began, sensing the girl becoming lost in her own mind. 'Yes, he did a wonderful thing all those years ago and his selfless actions saved many lives. But Hermione, he is still the same dark and brooding man, granted he has a soft centre now that we all know, but he is nonetheless a damaged man. He suffered more than you or I could ever imagine playing puppet for Tom and Albus.'

Out of the corner of her eyes, Hermione was sure she could see Dumbledore's portrait's head droop. Was that shame?

'I know,' Hermione conceded. 'To be frank, I don't care how he feels. I just care for how he makes me feel and today, he made me feel dreadful. He told me that I had no chance of working with him on brews for the infirmary unless my essays improved. I mean, this extra work was the only reason I came back for Merlin's sake.' She could feel herself becoming angrier by the second and the Headmistress sensed her magic rising inside her.

Minerva sat forward in her chair, her face now set into a serious expression. 'I hate to say it Miss Granger but Severus does have a point. You must focus on your studies and not let everything you have worked for go to waste. I know it must be hard coming back now, you are years ahead of your peers and life here as you know it has changed. Just promise me dear that you will put everything you have into your next assignment and in return I will ensure that Professor Snape allows you to work with him. He will have no choice I assure you!'

Hermione nodded, managing a half smile. She knew that the Headmistress only wanted what was best for her and she also knew that Professor McGonagall could play Snape as well as anybody else.


	3. The Lioness and Her Cubs

**3\. The Lioness and Her Cubs**

Severus Snape had never enjoyed communal dinner times. The constant hum of excited voices, the soft scraping of cutlery against porcelain both sounds which reverberated in his ears, causing a white out of noise which attacked his senses. If he had it his way, he would eat his meals in the comfort of his own quarters, away from the prying eyes of the three hundred or so students. Today however, one student in particular caught his eye as he observed the room. She stood out now; more than she had before.

At five feet five inches this witch hardly towered over her peers, despite her extra years. No, it was not that Severus concluded. She stood out because she looked like a mature lion amongst cubs on the Gryffindor table, her wild mane providing an extra inch or so of height. He observed her as she pushed her food around her plate, her eyes fixed on the food before her clearly not looking at the sight before her eyes. He imagined her focussed on somewhere else in her mind. Was she musing about friends lost? Was she thinking about what she was doing there? He had no idea but he knew that things were not well with the Grainger Girl yet he did not care enough to use Legillimens to confirm his suspicions.

When she had first entered his classroom back in September following a summer of travel and a previous year away from the castle seeking Horcruxes, Snape had been shocked by the change in her. She had taken her seat at the back of the room and he'd observed how she scarcely engaged with her peers or the lesson, she appeared, on the surface, a different girl. _Woman,_ his brain corrected. Maybe that was her issue? Perhaps, he mused, she was struggling with the immaturity of her peers, the monotony of school life, the structure of it all, God knows he did. Since he no longer escaped the castle walls on his missions for the Dumbledore and The Dark Lord, Severus Snape felt somewhat entombed within the old building. The lack of spontaneity in his day riled him and he often wondered whether the burn of the dark mark on his forearm would now be a welcomed release from the monotony of his current life.

Lost in his thoughts and before he could avert his eyes, the soft brown of hers locked on him. He thought about looking away for a brief moment before surmising that this could be interpreted as an act of weakness.

'Do have to scowl so, Severus?'

Snape blinked once, twice and broke eye contact with the young Gryffindor before slowly turning his head to Minerva.

'Since I am forced to partake in mealtimes, I have to find something to amuse myself.'

McGonagall eyed him dangerously over her silver frames. 'And how, pray tell, does staring venomously at my Gryffindors amuse you?'

'Look at how they quiver under my gaze Minerva. Gryffindor bravery has been seemingly lost since the end of the war.'

Minerva didn't respond to his comment. 'You do realise that you can drop your façade of the big bad man from the dungeons now that the war is over. You no longer have to pretend to be a prisoner to the darkness.' She sipped her wine thoughtfully and eyed him as a shadow cast itself over his face. Black eyes met hers.

'You are under the illusion that the blackness inside me is indeed…a façade. I assure you Headmistress that the darkness inside me is very real and is a burden I will carry for the rest of my life. I am not a good man Minerva, surely the death of your predecessor taught you that.'

His eyes remained fixed on hers and he saw a flash of something he could not compute.

She lowered her head, indicating the same of her tone.

'Severus my boy, you know that I have seen your memories, that I know you did what you had to do under instruction from Albus himself, don't you?'

It was at this point that Snape smiled a smile that did nothing to alight the darkness across his face. 'The instructions were Albus' yes,' he drawled. 'But the darkness that allowed me to do it, I assure you is all mine.'

Minerva McGonagall stood slowly, her chair sliding gently across the stone floor. He watched as she straightened her emerald robes, her reserve somewhat shattering under his intense gaze. Severus Snape knew that McGonagall was not a woman to be trifled with, and deep down he knew that she could -if she so wished- hex him to within an inch of his life. He also knew, that she was under some sort of instruction from Dumbledore to _save_ him. He was not a man that neither required nor needed saving from anything however; he was merely ensuring that she was aware of this.

With all the power and intensity of her male predecessor, Minerva McGonagall stormed through the centre of the hall, slowing only when she reached the Gryffindor table.

'The work I promised you will commence this evening Miss Granger. Professor Snape will be brewing in his classroom from 8pm onwards. He will not be expecting you.'

With that she turned on her heals, pushed through the doors to the Great Hall and leaving the young Gryffindor witch somewhat shell shocked.


	4. In His Company

**4\. In His Company**

Hermione hadn't known what to make of McGonagall's last comment as she'd stormed out of dinner that evening. She was of course grateful that she was able to assist in some way, but the thought of surprising Snape was not one that filled her with immense excitement.

Eager to be punctual, Hermione hadn't even changed from her uniform and had headed straight to the potions classroom. The dampness of the dungeon caught in her throat as she tried to clear it in a vain attempt to obtain a wash of calmness over her body. She reached the tall oak door of the room, then tapped gently on the door. From inside she could hear the clank of metal upon metal, the spoon against the caldron as Snape stirred meticulously. Apprehensively, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, the sight of Snape bent over the cauldron, his hair wild and his mouth muttering some sort of incantation, was nothing new, but knowing he was unaware of her presence was.

'I am not _unaware_ Miss Granger, simply preoccupied.' He didn't turn as he spoke, seemingly reading her mind.

Again she cleared her throat, before crossing the dark room and heading over to the steaming cauldron. He didn't look up.

She spoke confidently, despite her nerves. 'Professor Snape, Sir, as previously discussed, I am here to assist in your production of the Infirmary potions.'

He turned at this point, the curtains of his hair parted by the white of his fingers. He looked up at her through the black of his eyelashes, his hands falling to the side of the cauldron before using it to push himself upright.

'You are to do no such thing Miss Granger. I think I remember my telling you that you are not to be rewarded with such _privileges_ until you had afforded me with something acceptable to read.'

Hermione sighed deeply, quelling the refute which had formed bitterly in her throat.

'You appear to still be here Miss Granger. What part of _I. Don't. Need. Your. Help_ , don't you understand.'

Startlingly, Hermione struggle to supress the smirk that was threatening to play upon her lips and it did not go unnoticed by Snape, who eyed her suspiciously.

'Is there something which you find amusing Miss Granger?'

She straightened her robes confidently. 'As much as I understand that you do not _seek_ my help, Professor, I am under the impression, from the Headmistress, that the infirmary stocks are low. As such, it is _she_ whom requires my help and it appears that you have very little say on the matter.' As the words escaped the confines of her lips, her tongue unable to capture them before they absconded, Hermione inwardly shuddered, awaiting the inevitable chiding. There was no chance she would've spoken to him in such a manner in her sixth year and what had persuaded her to do so evaded her in the current moment.

To her astonishment, Snape smirked. There were no warmth to the smile – no sparkle in his eyes – however the response surprised her - it charmed her.

'Ten points to Gryffindor Granger. It appears you have developed a back bone.'

Hermione hadn't responded to his remark. Through the most basic of Legillimens, Severus deduced that the girl was rather proud of herself for challenging him; and despite his initial rage at her brassiness, he too was rather impressed. Her eagerness to please and remain _on-side_ as it were, was fundamentally what had irked Severus Snape so much in her previous years' attendance at the castle. She had always been so willing to remain a favourite, that very fact ironically stirring the opposite effect within him. He had always, of course, appreciated her intellect; she was admittedly an extraordinary witch. That side to her however, the side which had brown-nosed her way through her schooling appeared to have been stolen from her in the penultimate years of war. He was impressed.

'Are you going to stand there looking useless all evening Miss Granger, or do you intend to make yourself useful?'

 _(…)_

Four hours passed before they conversed again, the sound of the clock chiming midnight a stark awakening from their busyness with the Pepper-Up potion they were creating. They were both bent over the same cauldron, simultaneously diverting their eyes from the cauldron to the instructional text which lay between them on the table and back again.

Hermione watched with intrigue as Snape brought his head up from the steam of the cauldron, his hair lank as a result of the vapour, his face awash with beads of sweat. He had removed his cloak some hours ago, revealing a thin black shirt, the sleeves of which he had eventually rolled up. It was in that moment that Hermione had noticed the harsh crimson patch on his forearm as he pulled away from the cauldron and without thinking she reached a steady hand out to it.

He hissed softly as the very tips of her fingers reached the mark, instantly withdrawing. She stepped back slowly, as though awaking from a nightmare. She had no idea that she had reached out so, let alone touched him.

'What on earth do you think you are doing Miss Granger?' he snapped, the darkness of his eyes deepening as they locked with hers.'

She faltered. 'I…I erm, I just…'

'Spit it out Granger. What on _earth_ do you think you are doing?'

'I just…it looks so painful. I couldn't help myself.'

He glanced briefly to the pink area on his arm. It was still a shock to him to see the fleshy colour as opposed to the black which used to assault his eyes before the war. He had been surprised when the mark hadn't faded following the demise of the Dark Lord. According to his former reprobate _colleagues_ he was the only one whose mark had not faded into skin. The twisted part of him was grateful however; it served as a reminder of the heinous crimes he had committed and reminded him daily that he was not a good man - contrary to what the wizarding world thought.

'I do not need your sympathy Miss Granger,' he issued, his expression stoic as he spoke.

She shook her head vehemently. 'Not for one moment was I sympathetic towards you Professor. I was merely and instinctively responding to something which I thought needed some attention. Clearly I was wrong and I apologise.'

'So you should,' he spat. 'I think perhaps our time here has come to an end. You are dismissed.'

Apprehensive about her response, Hermione silently nodded. She turned on her heals abruptly.

He watched as she headed to the exit of the classroom, inwardly noticing the sass of the sway of her hips as she left. She looked absurd in her uniform, he noted – there was something costume-like about her appearance – a grown woman in a school uniform. His mind darkly flashed to something else as he processed this thought but he swatted it away with a gentle shake of the head.

'I will see you tomorrow morning Professor,' she issued matter-of-factly. 'And tomorrow evening when I am sure we will continue our session.'

She did not wait for a response. She had established her role as his assistant, whether he was willing or not.

(…)

His body was numb. His hand held tightly onto the glass of amber liquid. He had to be up in two hours but he couldn't sleep. There was something about the way the Granger girl had reached out to him which disturbed him; it was plaguing his mind. His previous treatment and experience of human touch had inevitably caused him to retreat the moment he realised her fingertips had made contact. Yet, despite the protestations of his inner mind, the feeling of her hand upon him had been…welcoming.

Despite popular belief, Severus Snape was not a man who had wholeheartedly confined himself to the fetters of the dungeons. Before the conflict, he was neither immune nor adverse to human interaction- granted it had not always presented itself in the most savoury of forms. But there was something different about her touch – it was warm, it was driven by concern, by an emotion which he had not afforded himself in some years. That concerned him. It unnerved him.

He inhaled deeply as he brought the glass to his lips once more, the burn of the liquid upon his lips somewhat satisfying yet painful. His mind flashed back to the girl, imagining what would've happened if he'd allowed her to continue her ministrations. His eyes closed tightly as he imagined her fingers dragging up his arms, rising slowly before pausing on his chest.

Vehemently, he shook his head as though shaking the thought from his mind. He needed more whiskey. Now.


End file.
